At least it wasn't Detention
by acheron beach
Summary: Response to the 'what kind of drunk are you' challenge on WIKTT.


At Least it Wasn't Detention  
  
Rating: PG 13  
In response to 'what kind of drunk are you' challenge on WIKTT. HGSS.  
  
Forgive me, I took liberties - mostly with bringing the Slytherins to the common room. I just liked the idea of it as a setting for the story. :)   
  
Disclaimer: Belongs to JK Rowling.  
  
---  
  
Ron thought he'd been doing Hermione a favour. Every time there was a party, Hermione had volunteered to be the lone sober guest, a mother hen that made sure nobody threw themselves off the North Tower or at Draco Malfoy because they'd had a little too much liquid courage.  
  
"Tonight you get to drink, 'Mione," he'd declared cheerfully, "For the first time. I'll stick with pumpkin juice, make sure nobody does anything stupid."  
  
"Well, all right," she'd tentatively agreed, "But only one or two."  
  
One or two pina coladas had turned into nine or ten rye and cokes in the few minutes that Ron had turned away to convince Parvati that setting fire to the Gryffindor common room was a bad idea.   
  
"How the hell did you drink so much in so little time?" he demanded angrily.  
  
"I dunno, it was 'cause of Harry, he said we should play a game, right? A fun game. It's called Hour of Power, too bad he only got ten minutes into it before he gave up, you see, the bottle was empty," she began pulling off her black work robe, only to have it stick around her head, "Why's it so hot in here, Ronald? Ron! Ron! I've gone blind!"  
  
He sighed tiredly and snapped the robe off over her bushy hair. She collapsed into a fit of giggles on the floor. He crossed his arms, feeling far too mature in comparison to Hermione's childishness. Had he been as frustrating as Hermione when he'd been drunk? He couldn't imagine himself sitting splayed out on the Gryffindor common room floor, giggling inanely as Hermione was doing. Then again, she'd always cut off him and Harry when they started swearing, not when they started stripping. Harry had never been that idiotic... wait, Harry!  
  
Ron spun around, looking for his _other _best friend, but was interrupted by a weak punch to the shoulder.  
  
"Ronny Ron Ron!" Neville slurred, "Jus' the guy I wanted to see. Y'know, I was thinking about friendliness. Really friendliness, the nature of the beast, and I thought, y'know, we're all being rather tyronic, if y'know what I mean. We should be rejecting Platonism, it's not truth, it's dogma. So... in order to shrug off my own inner shackles, I found us some friends..."  
  
Ron only half-listened to the pseudo-philosophical nonsense Neville was spewing, still looking for Harry.  
  
"Hmm? Is that right, now, Neville," he murmured, still glancing over the common room.  
  
"Yeah, it is, so I invited all the Slytherins up here," Neville declared loudly, "For free booze and free friends."  
  
"Er, Neville..." Ron spun around and realized Malfoy, Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson were all standing in the doorway, surveying the scene before them with bemusement.  
  
"And the Slytherin ladies, they're real friendly," Neville gave Ron an exaggerated stage wink, "Eh, Millie my love?"  
  
It was then that Ron noticed a green-and-silver Slytherin necktie laced around Neville's neck like a leash, the other end firmly held in Millicent Bulstrode's fat fingers.  
  
"Merlin, even the mudblood's plastered," Draco mused, "I never thought I'd see the day."  
  
"As for you four, I don't think so," Ron held up one hand, "This is a very bad idea. Go back to your own common room, will you..."  
  
"Ron, Ron!" Lavender threw her arms around his waist, and then, slightly lower.  
  
He jumped back, "Bloody hell, Lav, don't do that!"  
  
"Oooh, a little innocent, are we, King Weasley? I can fix that," she murmured, "Since I disgust Harry so much I'll settle for you..."  
  
"Disgust Harry?!? What d'you mean?"  
  
She ran her fingernails down his neck, and he fought the urge to sneak away with her, "Well, see, he was drinking with Hermione, and then I went up to him and gave him a wee kiss, and then he dropped the bottle and said, 'I think I'm gonna be sick' and he ran away."  
  
"Christ. Why did I agree to this? Where is he?"   
  
He pulled away from Lavender and began looking for Harry. He found him, hair rumpled, lying over Seamus Finnigan's potions cauldron in the corner of the room.   
  
"Hi, Ron," he mumbled, "I'm not feeling too great."  
  
He turned back to the potion and retched. Ron pulled out his wand, and with a quick wave, cleaned up the cauldron.  
  
"I'll help you up to bed, Harry, all right?" he patted his friend on the back, "And try and find a hangover..."  
  
His words were suddenly drowned out by raucous, blaring music. Dean had figured out how to work his stereo, even without any electricity in the school. Ron sighed. Using a wand while drunk had been the cause of far too many accidents in the past, and he was surprised that Dean's bit of foolish wand waving hadn't had any negative side effects.  
  
Well, other than the horrid music, he thought with a wince.   
  
"Wow! I love this song!" Hermione squealed over the music, and climbed up onto a table, pulling Dean awkwardly with her, "C'mon, Dean, let's dance."  
  
Dean began flopping around rather like a beached salmon, and Hermione wasn't much better.  
  
"Your dancing's really terrible, Hermione," Dean mumbled.  
  
"So's yours," she replied cheerfully, "Let's sing instead! _Oh, Mickey, what a pity you don't understand, you take me by the heart when you take me by the hand_..."  
  
Dean covered his ears, but continued to flail about on the wooden table, "Your singing's even worse."  
  
She didn't seem to care.  
  
"I'll be right back, okay, Harry?"  
  
Harry nodded mournfully, and stuck his head back into the cauldron to relieve himself of the contents of his stomach, "Ron, remind me never to drink peppermint schnapps ever, ever again..."  
  
Ron would've comforted him, but was too worried about Hermione, the Gryffindor dancing queen.  
  
"Hermione."  
  
She ignored him.  
  
"Hermione, please come down from there, you too, Dean," Ron said patiently, "You'll slip in your cotton socks."  
  
Dean obediently stepped down with an offhand comment about 'terrible looking Weasley freckles,' and flopped onto the sofa next to Vincent Crabbe. Shockingly, the Gryffindor and Slytherin seemed quite content to share a flask of Old Ogden's between the two of them.  
  
"Oh, piss off, Ron," Hermione glowered at him, "I want to have fun at least once before I leave."  
  
"Yeah, mudblood, get off the table," Draco mumbled, kicking back a shot of something brown-coloured. "I've had a request to do a table dance."  
  
Lavender squealed and jumped up and down. Ron noticed that she'd removed her bra, as did most of the other male occupants of the room.  
  
"Get off the table, Hermione!" Lavender bellowed, "Get off, get off, quick, quick! I've been waiting for this for seven years, dance for me, my little Slytherin prince... damn, why didn't I ever sneak into the boys' changeroom?"  
  
Hermione glared acidly at Lavender, and the 'enthusiastic' Gryffindor went quiet.  
  
"I am going to have fun, and you are not going to stop me just because you're hoping to get laid," she said icily, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to continue dancing."  
  
Draco snorted, "You sound just like Snape."  
  
Ron's eyes widened. Hermione's face fell. _She wouldn't_, Ron thought, _she wasn't that drunk... was she?_  
  
"Y'know, there's something I've always wanted to say about Snape," Hermione declared from the tabletop where she looked down on the common room, "The first person who pours me a shot gets to hear my big Snape secret."   
  
Ron froze. _She would_.  
  
"My stomach feels like it's gonna explode," Harry moaned from the corner, stopping Hermione in time.   
  
Draco waggled an eyebrow at a touchy-feely Lavender, "I think something else is gonna explode..."  
  
"Agreed," Crabbe mumbled.  
  
The sight of Dean going down on revolting, intoxicated Vincent Crabbe was enough to convince Ron that the situation was out of control. There was only one person he knew could keep every house in check, including a group of horny Slytherins.   
  
He bolted for the dungeons.  
  
---  
  
Severus rubbed his temples. He'd been sipping more than a few brandies, trying to exorcise the vision of his private succubus from his mind. She'd curtly told him not to interrupt her tonight, that she'd be busy at an important social event for the Gryffindor graduating class, at which he was thoroughly unwelcome.   
  
In a day she'd be gone. He'd considered some rash, idiotic, Gryffindor gesture, like a declaration of love. But that would have been unfair. She was young, beautiful, with a promising career and offers from dozens of muggle universities, and just as many apprenticeship offers from top wizards and witches around the world. When he'd seen the potions fellowship she'd received from the Durmstrang Institute, their first offer to a muggleborn witch in the history of their school, he'd known that to try and keep her here would be selfish. She'd go off and get her mistress' title, in anything she pleased, and end up marrying an equally brilliant, younger man and producing a dozen children he'd end up bitterly teaching in a decade or two. In the past few weeks, luckily, a chill had settled between them.   
  
You've gotten damned soft, Snape, he told himself. You've fallen for some bushy-haired, buck-toothed Gryffindor chit.  
  
A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Could it be her?  
  
"Come in," he called out, more softly than he'd intended.  
  
It was the Weasley boy, dammit, interrupting the despondent drinking session he'd been wallowing in.   
  
"Professor?"  
  
"That would be my title, Weasley," he clipped, "What do you want, idiot boy?"  
  
He polished off the last of his brandy, hoping that the chill in his voice would terrify Ronald Weasley into retreat. Instead, he held his ground calmly, in an uncharacteristic show of maturity.   
  
"Sir, I felt that you should be informed that there's an incident in Gryffindor tower," Ron looked at him over the desk.  
  
"Could you be more specific? Longbottom hasn't done anything foolish, has he?"  
  
"No, Sir," Weasley swallowed, "There was a graduation party, and someone let in a few of the Slytherin students... and, well, Sir, Hermione's drank far too much and they're asking her about you."  
  
In a flash, Snape had flung back his chair and stalked out of the office. Ron ran a hand through his red hair worriedly.  
  
"Sir," he called after Snape, "Can you possibly cure Harry of some nausea while you're up there?"  
  
---   
  
Severus peered into the portrait hole. The situation was worse than he'd imagined. Loud music blared from what looked like a black box. Mister Thomas and Mister Crabbe were enjoying each other's company far too much. Potter was heaving into a cauldron - a potions cauldron, how disrespectful - his face a shade of green-gray identical to his eye colour.   
  
"Take it off, take it off!"  
  
Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkison, Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown, in a rare moment of interhouse unity, were chanting enthusiastically as a chorus.  
  
"If you insist, ladies," he heard a rather slurred reply in what was certainly Draco Malfoy's voice, "Your wish is my command."  
  
"Take it off! Take it all off!" Lavender squealed.  
  
"Put it on," he heard an acid mumble from one of the puffy red and gold chairs.  
  
_Hermione._  
  
"Take it off! Take it all off! Take it off! Take it all off!"  
  
Hermione's sarcastic response was drowned out by the other four girls' renewed enthusiasm.  
  
From behind the throng of young ladies - and he used that term loosely - he saw a pair of tighty whities being tossed aside.  
  
"Well, that's disappointing," he heard Pansy mumble, "We Slytherin girls aren't like you Gryffindors, we only settle for the best."  
  
"Only the best, huh?" Neville came up and whispered in Millicent's ear. "Believe me, I'm better with my hands when I'm not in potions..."  
  
The two of them stumbled toward the wall together, leaving Snape a clear window onto Draco Malfoy, very chagrinned and clad only in a pair of dingy white socks.  
  
Draco reached out for a chair with one hand, and dragged up Hermione. Her eyes were glassy, and she spilled her shot of liquor all down her dress.   
  
"C'mon, you know I'm hot, mudblood, wouldn't you like a piece of Slytherin action?" he lurched forward.  
  
"Who says," Hermione replied tartly, "That I haven't already? Idiot Malfoy."  
  
While Snape had been content to watch the unfolding nightmare while the worst injury was a bruised ego, he now decided to step in. His cape billowing backward, his trademark sneer in place, he burst into the hideous red-gold common room.  
  
Lavender screamed. He silenced her with one raised eyebrow.  
  
"Uh, uh, Sir..." Draco muttered.  
  
"It's not what it looks like!" Crabbe squeaked.  
  
Parvati froze, and the fire she'd set to the bulletin board began to lick forward uncontrollably. Neville, surprisingly, jumped into action and stomped it out.  
  
"Silence!" Snape hissed. "It _looks _like I've encountered a common room full of hormonally challenged juvenile alcoholics. Twenty points from Gryffindor."  
  
Hermione bit her lip, "Severus, don't take points from my friends..."  
  
Her eyes teared up, but he didn't respond. Not now, he prayed, not right before she was about to leave and forget about the potions master that almost ruined her career before it had even started.  
  
"She's in for it now," Pansy gasped, "_Severus_? She's dead."  
  
"I've been waiting to see her taken down a few pegs for seven years. It's going to be beautiful," Draco murmured.  
  
He glared at Pansy, "Silence, Miss Parkinson, Mister Malfoy. You will all clean the Gryffindor common room, without magic, now, until I am satisfied that it has returned to its," he sneered, "Former glory. Mister Weasley, now that you've returned, please fetch two sober-up potions from Madam Pomfrey, and return with them for Mister Potter and Miss Granger. The rest of you, I assume, need nothing more than a cold shower and a night's rest."  
  
Hermione lurched forward, and he caught her with both hands as she crumpled. Though the students still stood frozen, staring at him, he lifted her up into his arms.  
  
"Don't dawdle, start cleaning!" he snapped before looking down, more gently, to Hermione, "Perhaps I should bring you straight to Madam Pomfrey, Miss Granger."  
  
"Maybe," she whispered, snuggling her head into the crook of his neck, "I feel really bad."  
  
He sat down in a corner to supervise the clean-up, feeling a bit weakened from the half-bottle of brandy he'd consumed earlier. Draco found his clothing, Neville was unleashed, Lavender found a brassiere. Severus really didn't notice.  
  
"Why did you get drunk tonight, Miss Granger?"  
  
She slipped her arms around his neck, "Well, _Professor, _I'd think a Slytherin know-it-all like you would be able to guess."  
  
"Hermione," he hissed in her ear, "Don't play games with me, you worried Mister Weasley. And myself."  
  
She pulled back, her eyes watery, "You don't seem like you've worried much over the past few weeks. I was trying to forget, you know, that all I was was a quick shag..."  
  
She sniffled, and he brushed back her hair from where it had stuck to her tear-slicked face.   
  
"Don't be foolish," he whispered, "Obviously you weren't just a quick shag, as you so crudely put it."  
  
"Well then why have you been treating me like a fungus, or something yucky like that, for the past two weeks?" she closed her eyes, "I wanted so badly to stay at Hogwarts, after Professor Flitwick offered me an apprenticeship, but I couldn't thinking you were so horribly embarrassed by me that you couldn't bear my company any longer..."  
  
He could feel her tense up, and he slipped his hands along her back, trying to relax her. So, just as he'd had tried to spare her feelings, so had she, only to result in hurt feelings on both sides.  
  
"I didn't want to ruin your future, my dear, by letting the secret slip out," he responded wearily, "Saddle you with some old, cantankerous potions professor..."  
  
She giggled, "You're so silly, you know that. Foolish man. You know I love you."  
  
He bit back his nervousness, feeling like an idiotic schoolboy, "I love you too."  
  
After a minute looked down and gave her a kiss on the lips, and her eyes fluttered open. She began to laugh drunkenly.  
  
"I don't think you'll be able to keep it secret anymore, even if you want to, Severus."  
  
He followed her glassy gaze. The entire seventh year Gryffindor and Slytherin classes were standing very still, brooms and cleaning rags unused in their hands, their eyes wide and mouths agape at the sight of Head Girl Granger and the Greasy Git locked in each others' arms.   
  
"You know, technically I'm not a student anymore, so you don't have anything to worry about, Severus." she whispered, tickling his ear.  
  
A collective gasp went through the graduating students who were watching the spectacle.  
  
"Well then, my dear," he picked her up and carried her toward the portrait hole, "I believe my quarters would be far more comfortable for you to sober up in, don't you agree?"  
  
"Most definitely," she replied wickedly.   
  
The portrait hole swung closed, leaving a very befuddled group of Slytherins and Gryffindors.  
  
"That was bloody unbelievable," Goyle muttered.  
  
"Disgusting, more like," Pansy sneered.  
  
"It made me hot," Dean murmured honestly.  
  
"Most revolting thing I've ever seen in this common room," Parvati added. "Who would've thought I'd agree with a Slytherin?"  
  
"Could've been worse... at least we didn't get detention!" Ron blushed, "Worst part is, the next time we'll get to really drink will probably be at their wedding..."  
  
---  
  
Ah, THE END.  
  



End file.
